


Tender Witness

by darkforetold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 04:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkforetold/pseuds/darkforetold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel finds Dean—at an inopportune time.</p><p><i>Castiel would drop his angelic shield of invisibility and scare Dean to breathlessness like he always did. He'd open his mouth and spill everything he'd learned in Heaven just as he was supposed to. A moan stole his intention right from under his feet. In his haste to please Dean, Castiel hadn't noticed Dean was pleasing himself</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tender Witness

Castiel traded in the glory and gold streets of Heaven for mediocrity in a second. Trucks growled over the highway beyond the curtain-drawn windows, replacing the angelic voices of the Heavenly Choir. Darkness instead of Heaven's ever-present light save for the bathroom's cheap fluorescents. Not warm but slightly chilled, stagnant air ripe with an energy he couldn't put his finger on. He'd taken up the space beside Dean's hotel bed with the flap of unseen wings, standing and hovering next to him like a sentient guard. Dean unaware of his presence; Castiel wholly aware of his as if he were the only person that existed on Earth. Castiel would drop his angelic shield of invisibility and scare Dean to breathlessness like he always did. He'd open his mouth and spill everything he'd learned in Heaven just as he was supposed to. A moan stole his intention right from under his feet. In his haste to please Dean, Castiel hadn't noticed Dean was pleasing _himself_.

Dean lay on the scratchy bedspread with his hand down his jeans. Fingers moved deftly under his boxers, coaxing shallow noises from his throat. Eyes closed, mouth parted just enough to draw in a heavy breath. Castiel shot a cursory gaze around the room. Gun on the table near the window, one duffel bag at the foot of an empty bed. Toiletries on the counter in the bathroom. Another duffel in a shadowed corner. No keys. No Sam. Why he half-expected him to be there, he didn't know. If he had the wherewithal to peel back the heavy curtains, he'd find the Impala gone, swallowed up by highway and darkness. If he had the wherewithal, he'd be breathing. He wouldn't be staring. Wouldn't be trapped by the hypnotizing rise and fall of Dean's hand.

Dean extended his arm down, plunging his fingers lower where Castiel couldn't see, but could guess by the sudden moan bursting out of Dean's lips like fireworks. Castiel could only imagine what Dean was doing to himself. Teasing himself with a single finger, maybe, like he'd seen on _late_ , late night porn—the porn he'd watch while the boys were dead asleep in their rooms, mostly with the sound off. Pornography that usually featured two men with fingers knuckle-deep in places that'd made him weak in the knees. 

As Dean let out another loose groan, Castiel dropped his eyes to the growing thickness in his pants. He was warm all over, but especially _there_ , in a place he had no need to feel anything. An oddity he studied in the dim light but had no courage to touch. _It_ distorted the straight line of his black pants, straining against the fabric of the simple-cotton boxers, almost painfully. A sort of... pain mixed with pleasure, with a nagging need to be sated. He tilted his head curiously, then forgot everything about anything when Dean shifted at the corner of his peripheral. With narrowed eyes, Castiel looked up, frowning with his deep study as Dean rubbed a hand down his own length, still nestled under too much fabric. Another groan, the sound of it running down his spine and bottoming out in a place he never expected. More surprising still was how his heart beat furiously in his chest as if he'd ran several miles, how his breath caught laboriously in his throat. Whatever this was, whatever he was feeling, it affected his entire body, leaving him warm, needy—and confused. Quietly, he began to ache.

Oblivious to his suffering, Dean closed tight fingers around the shaft, giving it a simple squeeze before letting go. The sweep of a thumb over the head made him shudder. A groan for another touch. Dean pressed his hips up with the pleasure of it all, then abandoned everything and twisted, reaching for something on top of the nightstand. A small bottle filled with clear liquid, something he squirted on his hand and used to slick himself down. As Dean shimmied his jeans and boxers down to his thighs, Castiel dropped a hand to the swell of his pants. A subconscious gesture on his part, his brain stripped down to the barest of instincts at the sight of Dean, exposed and wet. Dean's hard cock glistened under the bathroom's dim lighting, making his fingers mime what he'd do to Dean if he ever had the chance. Touch him like he was touching himself now, with a strong hand sliding down his length. Castiel took in a sharp breath and abandoned gentleness for a rough squeeze, sinking his hand lower to his balls. As Dean gripped himself, so did he, though over his pants, the scorching heat nearly burning his hands. Dean began stroking long and hard, and suddenly, touching himself over fabric wasn't enough. Castiel unbuckled his belt, never taking his eyes off Dean, unbuttoned and unzipped. A single touch over boxers and that was it. That, too, he'd decided, wasn't enough, either. His body needed skin on skin contact, _he_ needed it, and he grabbed the same small bottle Dean had, squirting and slicking himself down as if he'd done this all the days of his millennia-long life. The cool gel quickly warmed against his skin, his first touch—

" _Fuck_."

—just as Dean had described it, right then. Castiel kept his eyes wide and open, watching Dean as much as he dared. Dean fisted himself, jerking his hand over the hard shaft roughly and quickly, so much so, that, for a moment, Castiel thought it might hurt. It didn't, he discovered, mimicking the same rhythm and pressure as Dean was inflicting on himself. Instead, his toes curled and his breath quickened, the solid weight in his hands dictating his every heartbeat and inflection of his body. Castiel gave into it, slowing down when Dean did to even, firm strokes, ratcheting up the pace as Dean did the same. Eventually, he broke off on his own, keeping it fast and furious while Dean took a slower, softer method. Dean had always liked torture.

A curious heat built deep inside of him and he couldn't help but close his eyes against the mounting tide. Faster and harder he worked his hand, long strokes with the sweep of a thumb at the head. Dean groaned in the dark, then choked it off with a startled breath. Maybe the tide of whatever he, too, had been feeling had swallowed Dean up and left him breathless. It was half a second spared in thought before he turned to his own pleasure again, swallowing hard in the dry air. Another groan from somewhere in the room—maybe coming from his own mouth, though it sounded distant. Disembodied. The culmination of this... _feeling_ was right there, threatening to crush and overwhelm. He was oblivious to everything but _this_ , chasing the warmth and need for release with his fingers. In the dark, Dean groaned. Then something else, a whisper that tilted his world on its axis.

"Cas."

His hips bucked forward, his cock plunging hard into his hand. His eyes flew open and Dean was staring at him, stroking himself so quickly, his hand was a blur. His heart jumped into his throat, his gut twisting. For a split second, he wanted to stop, escape. Before he could—

"Come for me, Cas."

—his body revolted, exploding with _warm_ and _wet_. He spilled hot over his hands, pulsing with every ounce of pleasure his body gave him. On the bed, Dean found his climax too, white fluid shooting up over his chest and stomach. The sound that came out of his throat—Castiel sucked in a breath under its power, stroking himself until it hurt. When it was all over, when their eyes met, foreign emotions—shame? embarrassment?—washed over him. Dean opened his mouth—and Castiel traded in mediocrity for the glory of Heaven.


End file.
